


the only road that i have ever known

by unbrokengibberish



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Disabled Character, Hand Jobs, M/M, Paralysis, S3 compliant, Slurs, Violence, car crash, happens before the fic takes place but just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:39:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4624005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbrokengibberish/pseuds/unbrokengibberish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t need your help.” </p><p>“I know that,” Ian said, voice growing softer. He sat next to Mickey’s chair on the floor and Mickey had to look down at him. “But I’m offering it anyway.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the only road that i have ever known

**Author's Note:**

> I want to preface this fic by saying that I have no personal experience with paralysis victims or what it's like to live in a wheelchair. That being said, I have put a lot of time into this fic and I really hope that it comes across. I tried to handle it in the most sensitive way. Thank you for giving me a chance.

When Mickey Milkovich was thirteen years old, he was paralyzed from the hips down. He and his brother, Iggy, had gone on a drug run with their father, Terry, out of state, so they had taken the car. The old beat up car was missing seatbelts in the back, but none of them really cared. It had never been a problem. That was until on their way home Terry decided to stop for a round of drinks to celebrate their success and got shitfaced. He insisted that he was okay to drive, but when he ran the red light just a few miles away from home, a large truck slammed into their car. 

Mickey, being the only one not in a seatbelt, had flown through the side window and landed on the pavement, twisted at his lower back. It could have been much worse. He could have snapped his neck. He could have been killed. 

He woke up in the hospital a week later without any feeling in his lower body. He couldn’t move his legs. He couldn’t lift his hips. He more or less had control over his upper body including his arms and hands. The doctors called it a Lumbar Spinal Cord Injury, told him that he should regain full control over his upper body and should be able to go about his life almost the same. 

Except for the chair. They informed Mickey on no uncertain terms that his ever regaining the ability to walk again was slim, considering the fact that they couldn’t afford more than the basic surgery and even with the surgery the chances were extremely unlikely. That’s when Mickey realized that he’d have to live in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. 

The chair the doctors recommended, the one that would ensure the most function and comfort, was way out of their price range. So they ended up getting him the cheapest one that would still serve the purpose of getting him around. The thing was rough metal and the seat wasn’t the most comfortable, but Mickey learned how to move it himself - not that he was excited about his new found mobility at first. 

When Mickey first realized that he would never walk again, he had been angry. His emotions had skipped right past sad and self-pity to blinding rage. He spent the months he was supposed to be in physical therapy screaming in his room. When he finally learned how to use the chair properly, he went from lying in his bed screaming to throwing things around his room in silence. 

No one ever came into check on him. They just left him alone. Terry wouldn’t even look at him. Iggy acted like nothing was wrong. Occasionally, Mandy would bring him something to eat, but he normally just turned his back on her and waited for her to leave the room. He slowly regained control of his hands and arms through his habit of throwing as much shit as possible. The messy state of his room mirrored the mess that was his nervous system and he’d never wished for death more.

***

Years passed and Mickey turned seventeen. He was able to do just about everything he could do before (except that was a fucking lie because he was in a damn wheelchair, but that’s what everyone said). Terry’s feelings of guilt had been short-lived; he soon became annoyed that Mickey couldn’t fully function as he once could, and made him go on runs again. Mickey mostly played the role of watchdog. He hated it. Mostly, he hated having Terry loom over him as they made their way to the designated place. The only plus was that Terry never made him go on runs that involved the car, probably because getting Mickey and his chair into the car was more work than Terry was willing to put in. 

The lack of effort Terry was willing to put in to assist his son’s new lifestyle was particularly noticeable in the ramp they had installed. “Ramp” was a generous word, considering the fact that it was a couple pieces of wood nailed to the front porch. Terry had knocked out the railing on the side closest to the El tracks and it took him almost six months until he was able to use it properly. However, building an actual ramp would cost way more than they could afford, so Mickey pushed his way up and down the shitty pieces of wood whenever he needed to leave. 

He spent most of his days roaming the neighborhood looking for shit to get into. He’d dropped out of school right after the crash, not wanting to hear shit from the other students about him being a cripple. But that meant that most of his days were spent with little to fill them. He spent a lot of time underneath the El tracks shooting his gun or lying in his room staring up at the ceiling and smoking or trying to get away with stealing from the local corner markets. 

His need to get out of the house amplified when Terry was on a drunken rampage because whenever he was like that, Mickey knew to scram before he could start shouting about his crippled, no good son. He seemed to have forgotten that it was all his fault. 

***

The bell on the door chimed as Mickey pushed his way into the Kash and Grab. He hoped that Kash would be working, because there was something satisfying about a grown man being afraid of a teenager in a wheelchair. Mickey always got away with stealing shit when he was working. 

But when he looked up, some red-headed kid was sitting behind the counter idly flipping through what looked like an army magazine. 

When the door closed behind him, the kid glanced up and froze. Maybe Mickey would be able to get away with stealing after all. 

“Hey,” the redhead, who looked familiar, greeted with a voice that screamed “I’m trying to be casual.” 

Mickey ignored him and rolled his way to the back aisle looking for the barbecue pringles and blue gatorade. But when he got back there, he was greeted with an inconvenient sight. 

“Fuck,” he said, louder than he meant to. 

“Is there a problem?” the redhead asked as he came to stand at the end of the aisle. 

“You fucking moved my stuff,” Mickey said, pointing a gloved hand at the pringles above his head and the gatorade behind him. “How the fuck am I supposed to get it now?” 

“Well, you could, I don’t know, ask for help?” 

“Fuck you, Red,” Mickey practically spit. He didn’t ask for help. He hadn’t asked for help after the crash. He wasn’t about to start now. 

“Clever,” the kid said, coming closer to Mickey. “You know I know who you are.”

“Everyone knows who I am,” Mickey said, bitterness lacing his words. 

“No, I mean I’m friends with your sister. I’ve been over at your house before. I’m Ian.” 

Mickey now realized why the kid looked familiar. 

“Ian Gallagher?” Mickey asked, looking the boy up and down. He looked different, like he’d grown up. His chest filled out his shirt more so than Mickey remembered and his legs seemed longer as they moved closer to Mickey. His face had faded from one big freckle into what seemed like a light dusting from where Mickey sat. A weird sensation flooded through Mickey’s stomach as he thought about what Ian’s face would look like close up.

“The one and only,” Gallagher said, stopping directly in front of Mickey. Mickey had to look up so that he wasn’t staring at Ian’s crotch. “What do you need?” 

“I said I didn’t need help.” 

“But if you try to get something down from the top shelf and end up making a mess, then I have to clean up that shit. I’d rather just save us both the trouble.” Ian looked amused and Mickey fought against a smirk that wanted to paint itself in the corner of his mouth. 

“Barbecue and blue,” he muttered. Ian reached to grab the pringles and a thin stripe of skin made itself visible to Mickey as Ian’s shirt rode up. Mickey stared, warmth spreading through his chest, before Ian dropped the pringles on his lap and grabbed the gatorade. “Thanks.” 

“No problem,” Ian replied looking down at Mickey. He then turned around and walked back to his stool behind the counter. “That’s $5.17 by the way,” he called out after he was seated again and Mickey sighed, pulling out the money and rolling over to the cash register. 

“Thanks again, Gallagher,” Mickey said, dropping the money on the counter and pushing his way out of the store with only minimal trouble in getting the door opened towards him as he rolled out. 

***

After that day and the encounter with Ian, Mickey found himself at the Kash & Grab more frequently than he had before. Sometimes Ian wasn’t there and Mickey got away with stealing shit out from under Kash’s nose. But spring bled into summer and Mickey found that Gallagher frequented the store more often. 

He didn’t know why he felt so drawn to Ian. Yeah, the kid was good looking and Mickey could admit to himself that he was gay, but there was something else. Something about the way that Ian looked at him like he was a real person, not just the guy in the wheelchair. 

If he wasn’t at the Kash & Grab, Ian sometimes would be sitting on the Milkovich couch playing video games with Mandy, when Mickey rolled through the front door after an afternoon of shooting under the El. Ian would always look over from the TV and greet Mickey, who normally just flipped him off in return and made his way to his room, but the general feeling of having someone treat him like a real person made Mickey’s gut warm every time. 

One day he was sitting out on the couch in the living room, his chair parked next to him, drinking warm beer and playing video games alone, when a knock came at the door. 

He was the only person home and he couldn’t think of who would be knocking, but he knew he didn’t want to go through the trouble of getting in his chair to go answer the door, so he just called out to whoever it was to come in. 

When Ian appeared in the doorway, Mickey straightened up on the couch, hands falling limply at his sides, as he stared at Ian. Mickey didn’t allow people who weren’t his family to see him this vulnerable. There was no quick escape route while he sat on the couch. It would take him at least five minutes to get himself back in the chair and leave the room, and by then everything would just be even more awkward. 

“The fuck are you doing here?” Mickey asked, voice sounding tougher than he felt. 

“I was looking for Mandy,” Ian said. Mickey followed his gaze and realized that he was only wearing boxers, revealing his thin, weak, pale legs. He quickly grabbed the tarnished blanket thrown over the back of the couch to cover up. 

“She’s not here.” 

“Don’t.” 

They both spoke at the same time. Mickey saw a blush work itself onto Ian’s face as he felt his own eyebrows raise up. 

“What?” 

“You don’t have to cover your legs for me,” Ian explained. “I’m sorry I was staring, but don’t cover up for my sake. I don’t care.” 

Mickey scoffed, not believing Ian, but Ian was looking at Mickey’s face when he looked back up at him. 

“I’m serious. Your legs don’t bother me,” Ian said, swallowing thickly, causing his Adam’s apple to bob distractingly in his throat. 

“Well, like I said. Mandy ain’t here,” Mickey repeated, looking back at the television screen to try to keep the heat off his face. 

“You know when she’ll be back?” 

Mickey shrugged, taking another swig of his beer, and was just about to respond when Mandy burst through the front door. 

“Shit, Ian,” she said, panting heavily. “I’m so sorry I’m late. There was this sale and my friend held me up.” She seemed to notice Mickey sitting there for the first time. “Sorry, Mick,” she mumbled, seeming embarrassed that she was bothering him. She still hadn’t completely recovered around him, always being extra polite or cowering away from him. 

“It’s fine, Mandy,” Mickey said, waving her off a little as he resumed playing his game. He could feel Ian’s gaze on his neck as Ian followed Mandy into her room. When the door closed, Mickey exhaled a sigh and threw the blanket off his body. 

***

After that day, Mickey found himself gravitating more toward Ian. It started when Ian would drop by to see Mandy when he knew Mandy wouldn’t be home yet, or Mickey would only go to the Kash & Grab during Ian’s shift. Neither of them really said anything about it, choosing instead to let the mutual comfort they seemed to feel around each other remain silent. 

Mickey pushed his way into the Kash & Grab one afternoon, sweat pouring down his neck from the hot sun, and found Ian staring openly at him. He raised an eyebrow in response, before rolling back to get a cold gatorade, which had been moved to a more convenient shelf weeks ago. 

He made his way back to the front aisle, pausing to take a large gulp of the cool drink, and was about to say something to Ian when Linda, the owner, flew threw the back door. 

“You’re not trying to steal that shit are you, Milkovich?” she barked at Mickey. 

A wave of shock washed over him, freezing him in his tracks, and causing him to cower a bit. He shook his head quickly, holding up the bill he had ready to pay with. No one ever raised their voice at Mickey anymore, always using calming, condescending tones around him instead. 

“Good,” she sighed, tucking a stray piece of hair back under her head scarf. “Stealing has been through the roof lately and I’m sick of that shit. I’m thinking about hiring a security guard,” she said, this time toward Ian. 

Ian’s eyes flicked down to Mickey and before Mickey realized what he was thinking, Ian was talking. 

“You could hire Mickey,” he said, voice sure and confident. 

Linda looked back at Mickey and then turned to glare at Ian. “This isn’t a joke, Gallagher.” 

“Who’s joking? Half the neighborhood is terrified of him anyway and who would be twisted enough to steal shit from a kid in a wheelchair?” 

Mickey watched Ian, brow knitted in confusion, as Linda seemed to think the thought through. 

“What do you think?” she barked at Mickey. 

“I don’t got anything better to do,” Mickey muttered, trying to sound more confident then he felt. He pictured people finding out that the crippled kid was the new security guard and stealing increasing by double. 

“I guess I can start you on a trial basis,” Linda said, hands resting on her hips as she looked down at Mickey. “When can you start?” 

“He can start now,” Ian answered for him, and only shrugged when Mickey threw him a glare. 

“Well, let’s see what you’re made of,” Linda said, before disappearing back upstairs as quickly as she appeared down. 

“The fuck was that?” 

“What, like you couldn’t use the extra money? Plus, you’re here stalking me half the time anyway, might as well get paid for it,” Ian said, smugness illuminating his voice. 

Mickey didn’t want to admit that the plan was brilliant. It gave him an excuse to always be coming down here. And maybe if he started contributing to the family income, Terry would stop toting him around like a watchdog. 

“‘M not stalking you,” Mickey mumbled. “I don’t need your fucking pity, Gallagher.” 

“Who the fuck is pitying you? I just thought you could use the extra money and I’d much rather have your ass parading around here than some other loser that Linda would hire. Honestly, you’re doing me a favor,” Ian said, looking directly at Mickey. Mickey had realized that while most other people seemed to look around him, Ian always stared directly into Mickey’s eyes.

“Whatever,” Mickey mumbled, locating his chair to just underneath the front counter so he could watch the front door. He grabbed a magazine off the rack and started sifting through it, Ian’s gaze heavy on his neck. 

***

A few weeks went by like that. Mickey reading magazines, occasionally telling people to fuck off when they tried to steal. They’d always stare at him, wide-eyed, like he was some kind of fucking zoo animal, but they always left without question. 

He and Ian developed some kind of relationship over the weeks. Mickey would always arrive at the Kash & Grab after Ian who would smile at Mickey while making direct eye contact as Mickey wheeled his way in. Mickey would park himself under the counter, reading a magazine and keeping watch on the door, while Ian would sit behind the cash register. Occasionally, Ian would try to make small talk and depending on his mood, Mickey would either reply or just grunt. But he liked whatever Ian and him had going. He liked the idea that he had someone who cared about him, not just about his chair. Of course, he didn’t exactly buy that Ian wanted to be his friend, but the job got him out of the house so if he had to sit around and listen to Ian attempt to make conversation, he would. 

However, today, when he pushed his way through the door, Ian wasn’t sitting behind the register. No one was. Mickey weaved his way through the store, thinking that maybe Ian was just checking on inventory or something, but when he came up short, he grunted and made his way to his usual station. It wasn’t his fucking job to man the register and if Linda didn’t know no one was downstairs, Mickey really didn’t care. 

He didn’t care that was until a customer made their way through the door. The guy looked like someone that would hang out at the Alibi with Terry. His presence screamed aggressive and drunk and Mickey hated to admit that he was a little nervous. It wasn’t like he could charge the guy if he couldn’t even reach the register, but his job was to make sure no one stole anything. The guy grabbed something from the shelf and started making his way back to the front door. 

“You gotta pay for that,” Mickey said in a voice he hoped conveyed confidence. His hands were trembling. 

“Oh yeah? Says who?” the guy asked, taking a step toward Mickey. 

“The capitalistic society we live in.” 

“Fuckin’ cripple trying to tell me what to do,” the guy said, before shoving Mickey’s chair roughly. Mickey tried to balance himself, but the momentum was too much for his shitty chair and he fell out, splayed across the floor. 

He started to panic. He could feel his palms starting to sweat as he realized that he was stuck on the floor with a huge guy looming over him who could easily attack him if he wanted to. Mickey wanted to shout, but he didn’t know who or what for. 

Before Mickey could gather his thoughts, the door pushed open, and Mickey saw Ian’s shoes quickly step around him. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Ian asked, supposedly directed toward the guy standing over Mickey. “Get the fuck outta here!” 

Mickey couldn’t see the transaction taking place from where he was lain out on the floor, but for some reason the guy listened to Ian and scattered. 

Mickey’s face burned with embarrassment as he crawled his way back to his chair. Before he could figure out how he was going to right it, Ian was there, setting the chair back in the right position, but not offering Mickey any further help. Mickey was grateful for that. 

It took him a few minutes, but eventually he settled back in the chair. He shot a shy glance up at Ian, who looked more worried than Mickey had ever seen. 

“I’m fine,” Mickey muttered, looking down at his lap. 

Ian sighed, deeply, before walking to the back of the store. He came back holding two beers and handed one to Mickey. 

“Are you sure?” Ian asked, popping the top off his bottle and taking a deep swig. Mickey only nodded. “The fuck is wrong with people?” Ian practically hissed. Mickey’d never heard the other boy sound that way. 

“It is what it is, man.” 

“People shouldn’t fucking treat you like that!” 

“It happens,” Mickey said, shrugging it off. 

“Well, it’s not gonna happen anymore,” Ian said, darkly. Mickey glanced up at his face. His jaw was set like stone and his eyes were blown wide with rage. He looked like some sort of sexy vengeance demon, and Mickey had to look away and take a long, concentrated drink from his bottle to will his desire away. 

“I don’t need your help.” 

“I know that,” Ian said, voice growing softer. He sat next to Mickey’s chair on the floor and Mickey had to look down at him. “But I’m offering it anyway.” Ian smiled at him, a small thing that didn’t touch his eyes but relaxed his jaw enough. Mickey nodded, not knowing what else to say. 

***

After their shifts ended, Mickey lingered behind, waiting as Ian closed and locked up the store for the night. He didn’t know why he was waiting or what he was waiting for, but he didn’t want to leave. Ian seemed to notice Mickey’s reluctance to leave. 

“You sure you’re okay, man?” Ian asked, looking directly into his eyes again. 

Truthfully, Mickey could feel his arm bruising from where he landed on it, so he assumed he’d have a nasty bruise on his legs too. But he felt fine. There was something comforting about the fact that Ian seemed to genuinely care what Mickey was feeling. 

“I’m fine,” Mickey replied, a bit gruffly. “I should get going.” 

“I can walk with you,” Ian blurted out. By the look on his face, he hadn’t meant to say anything, but he wasn’t taking it back. 

“I know how to get home in the dark, Gallagher,” Mickey said, skepticism running deep in his veins. 

“I’m not saying you don’t,” Ian challenged, folding his arms over his chest. “I just don’t really want to go home.” He looked down at his feet and Mickey sensed that something was wrong. 

“Do whatever you want. It’s not exactly like I can stop you,” Mickey said, smiling to himself as he pushed off and started rolling in the direction of his house. 

His skin pricked where Ian’s eyes rested on him. They traveled a few blocks not saying a word, a comfortable silence setting between them, before Mickey felt the need to say something. 

“Why were you late today?” he asked, trying to make it sound like he didn’t care, trying to make it sound like he didn’t blame Ian, because he didn’t. 

“I’m so fucking sorry, Mick,” Ian said. Mickey bristled a bit at the new nickname. “DCFS is on our fucking asses and we had a surprise inspection. It didn’t exactly go well.” 

“Fuck,” Mickey said, genuine concern lacing his words. Child Services were a bitch. “That why you don’t want to go home?” 

“Yeah, there’s a possibility that they’re going to take us all in the next few days and I just can’t deal with that right now. It’s been years since we’ve been split up like that, but I remember how much it sucked.” Ian looked ahead of them as they moved up the street. Mickey watched his fists clench at his sides and heard the increase of breath. Ian was angry, like he’d been earlier when he’d found Mickey. 

“I’m sorry, man,” Mickey said, not knowing what else to say. “That sucks.” He wondered what it would be like if someone had enough balls to call Child Services on his dad, wondered if he’d be placed in a home for crippled kids or a place that was at least wheelchair accessible. 

They stopped in front of the Milkovich house and Ian looked up at the house with a concerned expression. “Wait, is that supposed to be a ramp? Like for you to get up and down the stairs?” Ian asked, pointing at the flimsy pieces of plywood. 

“Yeah, Gallagher. It’s been there. Not like we could afford an actual ramp to be installed,” Mickey said, looking up at Ian like he was stupid. 

“That’s so fucking unfair,” Ian said, kicking hard at the grass. “You didn’t ask to not be able to walk. You should at least be able to get into your own damn house with ease.” 

“Honestly, that’s not even what I’d want if we could afford it,” Mickey muttered, before he realized he was speaking. 

“What?” 

“A wheelchair accessible shower is what I really need,” Mickey said, self-conscious as he started pushing his way up the ramp. “I’ll see you at work, Gallagher.” 

“See ya, Mick.” 

Mickey pushed his way inside the house without looking back. Why did Ian care so much?

***

Mickey didn’t know why he had told Ian about the shower thing. So what if it was the one thing that bothered him the most about not being able to walk? So what if he had to take baths in his underwear so that one of his brothers could lift him in and out without him being completely humiliated? Most of the time he just used a rag and scrubbed whatever he could reach, washing his hair in the sink and making a huge mess that Mandy always helped him clean up. 

He didn’t know what it was about Ian that made him tell him the truth. Made him tell him things that he’d never admit to another person. 

A few days later, he rolled past the Alibi on one of his weekly wanderings through the neighborhood and he saw a flyer for a fundraiser to help a local cause. Ian Gallagher was a dead man. He ripped the flyer down, along with every other one he saw, and sped to Gallagher’s house. 

“Get the fuck down here, Gallagher,” he yelled, as he approached the house. He knew Ian heard him when he saw a flame of hair appear in the window, followed by Gallagher flinching and ducking out of view.

“The fuck do you think you are?” Mickey asked, throwing a wadded up flyer at Ian as he came out of the door. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ian said, sounding the opposite of nonchalant. 

“You think I’m a fucking idiot? Fuck you, Gallagher,” Mickey hissed, as he turned around. “I’m not a fucking charity case.” He wanted nothing more than to ram his chair into Gallagher’s legs, but somehow the idea didn’t hold enough rage in it. He thought Ian saw him as a real person, not just a local good deed. He pushed himself down the street with as much speed as possible, trying to vent out his frustrations. 

“Wait,” Ian yelled, running after him. Ian was fast and Mickey was forced to stop when Ian intercepted his path. “I don’t think you’re a charity case, Mickey.” Ian’s breathing was labored and Mickey watched as his chest rose and fell. 

“Then why the fuck are you throwing me a fundraiser?” 

“I didn’t even mention what it was for.” Ian’s voice was full of sorrow and yearning and Mickey was having a hard time staying pissed off. “I just want to help.” 

“I didn’t ask for your fucking help, Gallagher.” Mickey tried to move out of Ian’s path, but Ian stepped in front of him again.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Ian knelt in front of him, bringing them to eye level. “I should have said something, but the other day when you mentioned the shower thing… I don’t know I just needed to do something about it. But it’s not like I can fucking afford to remodel a house by myself.” 

“No one fucking a--” 

“I know, I know, but I want to help. Mickey, it’s crap that you can’t even take a damn shower,” Ian said, full on puppy eyes and all. “No one knows it’s for you. Debbie and Carl helped me make the flyers. I think about fifteen different charities are benefiting from the cause.” A twinkle shone in Ian’s eyes like he wanted to be happy and proud of his idea but he didn’t want to hurt Mickey. 

“No one knows it’s for me?” 

Ian shook his head. 

“So it’s kind of like we’re scamming these people out of their money?” 

“If that’s how you want to look at it,” Ian said, smiling and starting to wobble a bit on his bent legs. 

“If no one fucking shows up you don’t get to cry or anything. I don’t need a fucking shower. It’s just dirt.” 

The smile that broke out on Ian’s face almost blinded Mickey and he returned it with a small one of his own. 

***

When Ian showed him the money that they had managed to raise at the fundraiser, Mickey’s eyebrows climbed to the top of his forehead. 

“You made that all in one night in this shitty neighborhood?” he asked, disbelief evident in his voice. 

“It’s amazing how much people will give when they think it will make them a better person. Also a lot of alcohol was involved,” Ian replied, smiling as he sat on the coffee table in front of Mickey who was seated on the couch. “You got a computer?” Ian asked. 

Mickey nodded and shouted for Mandy who came out of her room, eyes widening in surprise as she noticed Ian. 

“What, Mick?” Mandy asked, voice small as usual. 

“You got the computer in your room?” Mickey asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. He hated that she was afraid to be around him, but he didn’t blame her. 

“Yeah, one second,” she replied, going back to her room quickly. Much quicker than she would have if Mickey could walk on his own. She came back out and handed the beat up old laptop to Mickey. “The fuck is that?” she asked, pointing to the wad of cash that Ian was holding. 

“Money for a worthy cause,” Ian replied, smiling. 

Mandy’s curiosity got the better of her and she sat, perched on the edge of the couch, next to Mickey. 

“What are you two up to?” she asked, smirking a little in the left corner of her mouth. 

“Mickey needs a new shower,” Ian said, simply. He held out his hand for the laptop and Mickey easily gave it to him. 

***

One hour and many websites later, the three of them sat dejected next to each other on the couch. Having the shower installed could cost upwards of about $5,000 and they had about $500.

“This is stupid. It’s fucking fine. I don’t need anything new.” Mickey crossed his arms and huffed wishing more than anything that he could just storm out. 

“It’s not stupid. You deserve to be comfortable, Mick,” Ian said, typing something else into the computer and clicking on a few other things. “Okay, so maybe we can’t get a whole new shower, but there are definitely other accessories that can make the bathroom more usable.” 

“Why the fuck do you even care?” 

“Because I care about you,” Ian blurted out, blushing deeply. “You’re my friend. I just want you to be somewhat comfortable.” 

“I don’t need your help. I’m not some broken toy you get to try to fix to feel better about yourself,” Mickey bit out harshly. 

Ian blanched a little at Mandy’s hard face. “I know that. I don’t think that. I don’t. Mick, I know you can do stuff on your own and that you don’t need my help. But you said this was something you wanted and I can help you get it.” 

Mickey stared hard at Ian. He didn’t understand Ian’s angle. He said he cared about him, but what did that even mean? What was Ian gaining from this? The chance to help the crippled kid? Whatever it was, Mickey didn’t understand, but he felt himself nodding slightly at Ian’s words. 

“Okay.” 

***

Two weeks later, Mickey was sitting outside of his bathroom looking at the newly installed grab bars, shower bench, and hand held shower head. The bench was plastic and something that he was pretty sure was meant for old people who had trouble falling, but he was determined to use it. The memory of the look on Ian’s face when everything was delivered enough to keep Mickey determined.

“The fuck is all this?” Terry asked, shoving his way through the house to stand behind his son. 

“New bathroom stuff. Supposed to make it easier for me to use,” Mickey replied, cowering a bit in his chair. 

Terry noticeably stiffened at the mention of Mickey’s paralysis. He hated any mention of it and would normally change the subject or leave the room or go start drinking. 

“How the fuck did you afford all this shit?” Terry asked. 

“Scammed some people,” Mickey said, looking up at his father. Terry almost smiled, before grunting and leaving Mickey to sit alone. 

Mandy appeared a few moments later. 

“Um, Mickey. I have to pee,” she said, blushing. 

“Shit, sorry,” Mickey said, backing up and accidentally running over her foot. “Shit, Mandy.” 

“It’s fine, Mickey, don’t worry,” Mandy said, about to close the door when Mickey stopped her. 

“Why’d Ian help with all this?” Mickey asked. He couldn’t figure it out. 

“Remember when I needed that abortion, but I didn’t have the money? Ian did the same thing for me,” was all she said, before closing the door. She peeked her head out a second later to assure him, “He’s just a good friend, Mick. He just wants to help.” 

***

Mickey rolled into the Kash and Grab the next day, feeling warm and fuzzy and awkward, not knowing how to act around Ian. He’d never felt this way about anyone. He’d never really had a friend before. And he sure as hell hadn’t had anyone who cared enough about him to make sure he was comfortable at home. 

Ian was sitting behind the counter when Mickey came in. He looked up and smiled, his big toothy smile that warmed Mickey’s face. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey,” Mickey replied, rolling over to take his usual place, grabbing his magazine off the rack on the way by. He waited a few minutes in silence, feeling Ian’s gaze floating down to him a few times, before he spoke. “The bathroom’s great. Thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank me,” Ian said, and Mickey could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m glad everything works.” 

“First real shower I’ve had in years. It was an other worldly experience honestly,” Mickey said, smiling at the memory of the warm water falling on his head as he leaned back against the back of the bench. It had been amazing. Mickey hadn’t felt this clean since before the crash. Hell, he’d never felt this clean. 

“That’s great, Mick.” 

They continued their shift in a relatively comfortable silence, saying a few things here and there. Mickey asked about Ian’s family, remembering that they were going through some shit and Ian informed him that he’d spent a night in a group home. 

“Fuck, is it bad?” 

“There’s no privacy, even less than at my house. Some of the boys think I’m some pussy or whatever, but it could probably be worse,” Ian informed him. 

Mickey knew that probably was true, but the thought of Ian being picked on in a group home did something weird to Mickey’s chest. He almost asked if he wanted to stay over at Mickey’s, but then he remembered his father. 

When they were about to close up, Ian surprised Mickey (yet again and definitely not for the last time if Mickey had any ideas about the future) by asking him if he needed to go home right away.

“Why?” Mickey asked, looking up at Ian a bit skeptically. 

“I just thought that we could hang out or something. You know not at work, not at your house.” 

“Where do you wanna go?” 

“I have an idea.” 

***

“Isn’t there something you miss?” Ian asked him, looking concerned as they sat on the baseball field, Ian on the ground and Mickey in his chair. Ian had led them here after Mickey had agreed to hang out. They had ended up smoking and drinking and laughing and Mickey honestly couldn’t remember if he’d ever felt so free in his life. 

Mickey looked up at the sky, the vastness overwhelming as it twinkled with millions of stars. He couldn’t help but think of the freckles spattered along Ian’s shoulders that he’d seen the other day when Ian had worn a tank top to work. He thought he might be obsessed with dots. 

“Running,” he blurted out, blushing as he realized that he was speaking. He looked down at Ian who stared up at him with a concerned face. He looked back out at the empty field. “I miss running. I was usually only ever running from the cops or my dad or whatever, but I miss the burning of my legs and the gasping for air. The tightness in my lungs that went away only after I’d stop. I miss that feeling.” 

Ian smiled sadly up at him, and Mickey shrugged because there were things he missed, but he had grown to accept that his life would never be how it was before. He still had the full use of his upper body and he knew how lucky he was for that. He tried to let go of all the things that made him different. But sometimes it was hard. 

He looked down at Ian, legs sprawled out in front of him as he leaned back against his arms, looking up at the sky. Mickey felt that warmth in his chest that he always got looking at Ian. The kid was beautiful and Mickey would never understand why Ian chose to hang out with him. 

“Why are you here?” Mickey asked, the alcohol and weed loosening his tongue. 

Ian turned to face him, brow knitted in confusion, eyes glassy and so, so green. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean like here with me. Why do you care? Why don’t you find some normal friends that you don’t feel the need to babysit?” 

“Do you really think I think that I’m babysitting you? Is that what you really think this is?” Ian asked, sitting up taller and glaring directly into Mickey’s eyes. “Fuck you, Mick. I’ve told you before, I don’t pity you. That’s not what this is. Excuse me for liking spending time with you. Just say the word and I’ll go.” 

“Wait,” Mickey said, as Ian moved to get up. “I’m not going to apologize. It’s just that it’s been four years and not one damn person in my life treats me the same. My sister can barely be around me without flinching or crying. My brothers act like I’m not even there and then get annoyed when I need their help. My dad acts like nothing changed, like he didn’t cause this whole fucking mess, like I’m some sort of burden to him. I’m not used to people treating me like a person.” 

Mickey saw Ian’s hand reach out and touch his leg. He then looked embarrassed and moved his hand to squeeze at Mickey’s forearm. “I’m sorry,” Ian muttered, kneeling in front of Mickey so there were at eye level. “That sucks. I don’t know what to say. I just care about you. I like spending time with you. You listen to me. Sometimes I think that my family doesn’t even notice I’m around.” 

Mickey scoffed involuntarily because if Ian thought that Mickey was going to pity his relationship with his family, he was barking up the wrong tree. 

“No, I know. It’s stupid. I know they love me or whatever, but sometimes it’s just nice to be around someone who I know is giving me their undivided attention.” 

“It helps that I can’t make a speedy escape from your babbling,” Mickey noted, smirking a little. His smirk bled into a full on smile as Ian doubled over laughing, falling onto the ground. 

“You’re an asshole,” Ian said, as he tried to control his laughter. 

“An asshole you like spending time with,” Mickey replied, laughing as Ian flipped him off. 

When Ian stopped laughing, he walked Mickey home.

“You know, if you need a place to crash that isn’t the home, the floor doesn’t suck here,” Mickey said. 

“Thanks, Mick. Lip’s waiting for me, but maybe some other time,” Ian said, squeezing Mickey’s forearm once more before leaving. Mickey’s arm burnt for the rest of the night. 

***

After that night on the baseball field, Ian and Mickey spent a lot more time together, both at work and outside of work. The summer was quickly drawing to an end and Mickey dreaded the day when Ian would have to go back to school and he’d be stuck working with some stranger. 

But it wasn’t just that Mickey didn’t want to work with someone else, he didn’t want to be without Ian. Ian who now casually touched him whenever the opportunity presented itself, burning his touch into Mickey’s skin without even realizing it. Mickey who hadn’t been casually touched by anyone in years. His family avoided touching him unless they absolutely had too. But Ian would squeeze his arm or shove his shoulder or just lightly press up against his side. Mickey felt as if he was being branded and he didn’t mind it at all. The more Ian touched him the more real he felt.

“What are we doing?” Mickey asked as he followed Ian to the high school. Ian’s long legs carried him ahead of Mickey, but he slowed down when he realized that Mickey was falling behind him. He seemed to be bouncing with some kind of uncontained energy. 

“You’ll see,” Ian said as he turned toward the football field. To say Mickey was confused would be an understatement. 

Ian stopped on the track and turned to look at Mickey as he rolled his way over and stopped in front of Ian. His stomach boiled with unease, but he put on a face that he hoped conveyed annoyance, raising his eyebrows as he stared up at Ian. 

“You said you missed running,” Ian stated like it an answer to Mickey’s unspoken question. 

“You may have forgotten this, but I can’t exactly run.” Mickey looked down at his legs not wanting to look at Ian’s face, not being able to look at Ian’s face. 

“You can’t exactly run, but I think we can simulate the sensation,” Ian said, taking a step closer to Mickey. Mickey’s eyes snapped up to meet Ian’s. He didn’t understand what Ian meant. Ian walked around Mickey’s chair and Mickey turned his head to watch. 

“You can’t run,” Ian said, breath fanning out against Mickey’s ear, causing Mickey to shiver. “But I can,” Ian stated, holding onto the handles of Mickey’s chair and waiting for a response. Mickey suddenly understood what Ian was thinking. He didn’t think it would work, but he didn’t care. He nodded slightly and Ian pushed off at a fast paced walk. 

Ian pushed harder and Mickey felt when he transitioned from a walk to a jog, from a jog to a steady run. He felt his lungs expand with air as the breeze worked its way against his face. It wasn’t the same. He didn’t feel the exertion of the running, but he could imagine it. He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of Ian’s huffing breath and shoes hitting the track as he imagined it was his own feet carrying him forward. 

Ian made one lap around the track and then another before coming to a gradual stop around the same place they’d started. Mickey felt slightly winded and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Ian walked around the chair and knelt in front of Mickey. Mickey liked the way that Ian always wanted to be equal to Mickey. His long legs made Mickey certain that if Mickey could stand he’d still have to look up at Ian, but the way that Ian always crouched down toward Mickey’s level felt right. He felt like Ian saw how Mickey was tired of everyone always being above him. He enjoyed the way that Ian’s small gesture spoke loudly to how he felt about Mickey as a person, like he saw him as more than just the kid in the wheelchair, like he genuinely thought of them on equal levels. 

Mickey watched a small bead of sweat make its way down Ian’s forehead. He saw the pink flush creeping across Ian’s skin as Ian’s chest expanded in and out with the exertion of running while pushing Mickey. He saw the steady rhythm of Ian’s heartbeat underneath his skin and couldn’t help himself as his hand settled on the bare skin of Ian’s neck, feeling the beat and imagining what it would feel like under his own skin. 

Ian’s eyes widened as Mickey settled his hand against his skin and Mickey was mesmerized by the closeness of Ian, the greenness of his eyes, the spattering of freckles all along his face. He didn’t even realize he was leaning in until their lips were already touching. 

He felt the gasp Ian emitted as well as the unsteady breaths coming out of his mouth, but all he could taste was Ian. Ian’s lips as they started moving steadily against Mickey’s own. Ian’s tongue as it touched his bottom lip. He tightened his grip on Ian’s neck and pulled him closer, careful not to knock him over where he still kneeled in front of Mickey. He pressed closer to Ian’s mouth, melting into him. 

Ian was the first to break apart, from lack of oxygen Mickey assumed, but he rested his forehead against Mickey’s and Mickey could practically feel the grin on Ian’s face. 

That’s when he’d realized what he’d just done. “Fuck,” he said, rolling backward, causing Ian to fall on all fours as he turned around, rolling away as fast as possible. 

He could hear Ian calling after him, but he kept rolling as quickly as possible, putting as much distance between himself and whatever just happened as he could. Fuck. 

***

Mickey stopped going to work, stopped doing much of anything really. He spent his days, once again, holed up in his room not talking to anyone. 

Three days passed since the night on the track and Mickey hadn’t heard a word from Ian. He laid in his bed, staring up at his ceiling, watching smoke drift upwards before dissipating into the air, when a noise from outside his window made him jump. 

The window was cracked open; it was too hot to have it closed. When he turned his head to see what the noise was, Ian’s face appeared in the window. 

“Mick, you gotta talk to me,” Ian said, realizing that Mickey was staring at him. 

Mickey turned around, not saying a word, as he continued smoking toward the ceiling. 

“You know smoking can cause more complications in spinal cord injury patients,” Ian said, smoothly, causing Mickey to turn his head back toward Ian. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I want to talk to you,” Ian said, smile dropping from his face. 

“Why are you at the fucking window?” 

“Didn’t want to deal with your family.” 

“They’re gone. My dad took my brothers on a run out of town for a few days and Mandy didn’t want to be alone with me so she’s staying over at some friend’s house.” 

“Can I come in then?” Ian asked. When Mickey nodded, Ian shoved the window open more and used his arms to pull himself in. Fuck, Mickey had to force himself to look away from those arms.

Ian straightened up once he got into the room, standing awkwardly with his long arms at his sides.

“You said you wanted to talk?” 

“The other night…” Ian began, but paused when Mickey turned to glare at him. 

“Nothing happened. It was a fucking mistake. Adrenaline or something.”

“Mick...I know you don’t mean that,” Ian said, eyes widening at Mickey’s harsh tone as he took a step closer. 

“Stop. This isn’t anything. You’re just some guy I work with,” Mickey bit out as harshly as he could. The lie tasted terrible on his tongue, but this was better. He kind of wished he wasn’t lying down, but trying to prop himself up at this moment would only make things worse. 

“That’s not true. We’re friends.” 

“I don’t have any fucking friends, Gallagher.” 

“Fuck you, Mickey. You want to hide in this damn house all day feeling sorry for yourself because nobody fucking gives a shit about you. Well guess what? I fucking do! I give a shit.” 

“No one fucking asked you to,” Mickey replied, looking up toward the ceiling, trying to keep the unwelcome burn out of his eyes. 

“Mickey,” Ian started, voice seeming a bit calmer. “I like you and considering what happened the other night, I’m thinking that you like me too.” 

“I’m not a fucking faggot.” He instantly regretted saying it. The word tasted poison on his tongue and echoed Terry’s voice throughout his head. Ian froze, taking a step back toward the door, body going rigid as he tried to contain his emotions. 

“Fuck you, Mickey,” Ian practically hissed, before walking out of Mickey’s room. Mickey heard the front door slam a moment later and Ian was gone. 

***

Getting the bottle from the back of the countertop was difficult, but not impossible. Normally, Mickey would just ask one of his brothers and they would groaned but comply; however, since he was alone tonight he made do. 

Draining half the bottle in an hour was much easier. 

The liquor burned going down and he knew his bladder would be fucked up from drinking so much so late, but he didn’t care. After everything he’d been through, he was still turning out just like his father. He fucking kissed Ian and then acted like Ian was the problem, when Ian was the only thing that made Mickey happy these days. 

He rolled back into his room, taking deeps swigs from the bottle as he looked out the window that Ian had appeared through thinking maybe he’d show up again. But who was Mickey kidding? Ian finally realized what kind of a person Mickey was, he wasn’t coming back. 

The whiskey hummed through his veins, making his brain heavy and dizzy. He popped up onto his back wheels, feeling invincible with an underlying need to break something, and rolled back and forth, laughing darkly to himself. 

The alcohol in him quickly shooed away any coordination that Mickey had learned in his chair, so when the wheel caught on a discarded pile of shirts on Mickey’s floor, Mickey fell backwards toppling out of the chair as it crashed to the floor. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing at his neck and trying to maneuver his way back up. He was too drunk to manage a way to get back into the chair. He didn’t know what to do. No one was home and he was lying on the floor of his bedroom with no way to get back up. He started to panic, deep breaths coming in short gasps as he looked around wildly for a solution. His head became lighter with each huff of air. 

“Shit.” 

That’s when his eyes landed on his phone, just out of arm's reach. If he were sober, he’d ignore the impulse to call for help. But the pounding in his veins, his head, his back from falling, all shouted at him to stretch and call. 

He threw out his arm as far as he could and wiggled to the side. Finally, his finger brushed the phone and he was able to pull it towards him. 

His hand brushed over Mandy’s contact for a moment, before he scrolled back up and pressed call. 

“Mickey?” Ian’s voice asked through the phone. Through Mickey’s intoxication he could sense the surprise in Ian’s voice. 

“I need you,” he huffed out. 

“What?” 

“Need your help,” Mickey managed. 

The phone went dead and Mickey worried that Ian didn’t care. Ian would just leave him here and he’d have to wait until his dad came home or Mandy worked her way out of whoever’s bed she was in that night. 

He was just about to give up and call Mandy, when he heard the front door push open. 

“Mickey?” Ian’s voice called out. 

“In here,” Mickey slurred. 

“Fuck,” Ian gasped, appearing in Mickey’s doorway and immediately rushing over to his side. “What happened?” 

“I fell,” Mickey said, looking unamused at Ian’s obvious stupidity. 

“I see that, asshole,” Ian murmured, already holding out his hand for Mickey to take. Mickey fliched as he sat up with Ian’s help. Ian’s hand caressed his back, causing Mickey to wince. “Gonna get you to the bed. Is that okay?” Ian asked. 

Mickey nodded because he was too far gone to care about the humiliation of needing Ian’s help. Ian hunched over and picked Mickey up in his arms, before setting him down gently on his mattress. 

When Ian went to pull away, Mickey fisted his hand in the front of Ian’s shirt. “Don’t go,” he breathed. 

“‘M not going anywhere. I need to check your back,” Ian stated, chin set firmly. “Can you get on your side?” 

“Help?” 

“Of course,” Ian whispered, voice softer than before. He helped Mickey turn onto his side so that he was facing the wall, and then Ian gently lifted his shirt up. Ian traced a hand lightly down his upper back, the feeling disappearing the lower Ian’s hand got. 

“I think you’re gonna bruise, but doesn’t look like anything’s damaged,” Ian said, helping Mickey roll onto his back. Mickey winced as he settled a little, but the feeling mostly vanished. Ian sat on the edge of Mickey’s bed. “What happened?” 

“Stupid chair let me down,” Mickey said, throwing a death glare at his toppled over chair. It looked like one of the armrests had come unhinged. 

“Maybe that’s ‘cause you’re drunk.” 

“‘M not drunk,” Mickey slurred, a hiccup escaping his throat. “Maybe I’m a little drunk. Had to.” 

“Why, Mick?” Ian asked, his hand flexing a little like it was all he could do to not reach out and touch Mickey. Mickey wanted that touch. 

“I’m not my dad,” Mickey stated firmly. His eyes burned a little. 

“Hey, shhh,” Ian soothed. “I know that, Mickey.” 

“Like you. Not supposed to like you, but I do. Don’t think you’re a faggot. Think you’re perfect.”

Ian seemed to lose his internal fight and his hand came up to soothingly push Mickey’s hair back from his face. His eyes were soft and fixed on Mickey. 

“No one’s perfect, Mickey.” 

Mickey sighed, the feeling of Ian’s hands on him lulling him to sleep. 

“Don’t go,” Mickey repeated closing his eyes. 

“I won’t.” 

Mickey waited for the dip in the bed to signal Ian lying down next to him, but when it didn’t come he opened his eyes again. 

Ian was trying to get comfortable on the floor. 

“What are you doing?” Mickey asked, staring at him. “Get up here.” Mickey patted the bed next to him and Ian’s eyes widened. 

“Mick, I don’t know…” he said, trailing off and searching Mickey’s face. 

“Want you here,” Mickey murmured, eyes closing again, as he rolled over onto his other side. 

Ian crawled in behind him, and Mickey rested his weight on Ian’s chest. Ian froze momentarily, before Mickey reached out for his arm to wrap around his own waist. He cuddled back into Ian further and Ian relaxed. 

“Mmm, night,” Mickey mumbled, before sleep overtook him. 

***

Mickey felt two things when he woke up. The first was a tight arm wrapped around his waist and the second was the rock being bashed against his temples. Trying to open his eyes was a failure, causing him to immediately squeeze them shut and groan. 

Ian stirred behind him, arm tightening for a moment before relaxing and then retreating all together. 

“Morning,” Ian mumbled, rubbing at his face. 

Mickey opened his eyes again, this time groaning because his chair was still tipped over from where it fell last night and he couldn’t possible get it. 

“How’s your back?” Ian asked. Mickey detected the concern in his voice and turned his head to look at him for a moment. 

“Hurts.” 

“Is that good or bad?” 

“It’s good. If it didn’t hurt, that would be bad. Fuck,” Mickey winced at the sun coming through his window. 

“How’s the head?” 

“Hurts,” Mickey grumbled, burying his head in the pillow under him. He felt Ian moving over him and off the bed. A moment later his chair was sitting next to him like Ian could read his mind. “Thanks,” Mickey mumbled, hauling himself up and into the chair. 

He disappeared into the bathroom, his bladder on a schedule he’d perfected over the years. 

When he got back into his room, Ian was sprawled out on his bed. Ian leaned up on his arms to look at Mickey. 

“I shouldn’t have stormed out of here last night.” 

“No, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have used that word. I hate it, but I freaked out. I didn’t mean to kiss you.” Mickey spoke the last part softly, looking at his lap.

Ian sat up, leaning against the wall. “But you did? And I’m pretty sure you liked it.”

Ian’s tone wasn’t accusatory and his face was calm like he understood Mickey. 

“Knowing I’m gay isn’t the problem, man. It’s being gay that’s the problem.” 

“There’s nothing wr--” 

“I know that. But my dad doesn’t know that.” 

“What is he gonna do? Hurt a kid in a wheelchair?” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Mickey muttered. At Ian’s shocked look, he added, “You’ve heard stories about my dad.” 

“What kind of monster abuses their son after almost killing him?” Ian asked, hands clenching at his sides and jaw setting firmly. 

Mickey sighed and pulled himself up onto the bed. He scooted back until he leaned against the wall next to Ian. He took one of Ian’s hands in his and smoothed it out, warming at the electricity that passed through their skin. 

“You don’t have to protect me all the time,” Mickey informed him, breath catching as he realized how closely they were sitting. 

“I know,” Ian said, before brushing his lips lightly over Mickey’s. When he wasn’t met with any protest, he turned his body so it faced Mickey’s more directly and took his face between his hands, kissing him deeply. 

Mickey moaned, one hand resting against the bed and the other coming up to settle on Ian’s waist. Ian’s tongue swept against Mickey’s bottom lip, causing Mickey’s mouth to fall open. Ian kissed him long and hard and perfect. 

Mickey pulled away for air a few minutes later, resting his forehead against Ian’s. He could feel Ian’s eyes staring at him, waiting for him to freak out and push him away. 

Instead he shifted a little so he was facing Ian more, his legs hanging off the bed. He brought one hand up to cup Ian’s cheek, before dragging it down the length of Ian’s body. He trailed his hand over the button on Ian’s jeans that he had fallen asleep in and looked back up at Ian’s face, fighting a blush on his own. Ian’s eyes were wide, but he wasn’t doing anything to stop Mickey, so Mickey deftly unclasped the button and slowly dragged the zipper down. Ian gasped when Mickey’s knuckles brushed against his still covered cock. 

“Mickey,” Ian breathed out, a warning lacing his tone. Mickey just shook his head as his hand snuck under Ian’s boxers, gripping him softly. Ian’s head fell back against the wall and Mickey watched as his breathing became more ragged the quicker and tighter Mickey worked him. 

Mickey hadn’t jerked off in years, the process of getting an erection when he couldn’t feel anything below his hips too tedious to be worth anything. But the feel of Ian in his hand, smooth and hard all at the same time, had Mickey groaning into Ian’s neck. 

Ian’s hand worked its way to the back of Mickey’s neck where he gripped hard, doing nothing more than using Mickey as some kind of anchor. Mickey smiled into Ian’s neck, placing an open mouth kissed to the freckled-dusted skin beneath his lips. 

Ian moaned. “Mick,” he almost hissed, as Mickey’s hand worked him quicker. 

“Want to see you come,” Mickey spoke against Ian’s neck. 

That seemed to be all the encouragement Ian needed to let go. His hips bucked up, fucking his way into Mickey’s hand, a moment before he fell apart. He slumped over, falling diagonally across Mickey’s bed, chest heaving with his labored breaths. 

“Fuck, Mickey,” he said after a few minutes of composing himself. Mickey wiped his hand on the sheets below him, biting his lip as he looked at Ian’s disheveled appearance, pants hanging open in the most inviting way. 

Ian sat back up, leaning over Mickey slightly, and brushed his lips just barely over Mickey’s. 

“Can I?” Ian asked, waving his hand in a suggestive way. 

“You don’t have to. I don’t think it’ll even work.” Mickey bit his lip, looking down at his lack of erection. 

“I want to try,” Ian said. He sounded so genuine, like he just wanted to make Mickey feel good and he didn’t care how long it took, that Mickey found himself nodding. 

Ian shifted onto his legs, knees bent underneath him. He slowly, carefully, picked up Mickey’s legs and turned him so that he was lying flat against his pillow, staring up at Ian. He felt his face burn red, but Ian looked so determined that he didn’t say anything. 

Ian softly stroked the skin above the waistband of his sweatpants, but Mickey didn’t feel it. Ian, unphased by the lack of response, slowly started to drag Mickey’s sweatpants down. Mickey gripped Ian’s hands, halting his actions. 

Ian smiled softly, leaning over him and brushing their lips together. “Let me?” he asked, his voice free of any pressure and Mickey nodded, looking up at the ceiling. 

He felt Ian’s eyes on his face, but nothing else, so he glanced back down. Ian’s lips were trailing over his knees and thighs. 

“Ian, I-I can’t….” 

“I know,” Ian said, reaching up to stroke at his cheek so he would relax. “You just have really nice legs.” 

Mickey rolled his eyes, but watched Ian’s head moving around his lower body. Ian trailing kisses up his unresponsive body. Ian mouthing lightly at his bare cock. Ian and his green eyes watching Mickey. Ian as he kissed the spot on Mickey’s stomach where he began to regain feeling and Mickey’s upper body practically lifting off the bed, scrambling to get his hands in Ian’s hair. 

He could feel Ian smirk against his skin and he didn’t think he’d ever felt something so wonderful. Ian mouthed his way up Mickey’s chest, pushing his tank top up as he went, exposing his nipples, before he laved and sucked and rolled them into his mouth, nipping just this side of painful before kissing them. 

Mickey felt sensations in his body that he hadn’t felt in years. Stirrings low in his stomach that cut off right at his hips and he had to look down to see that his limp dick was slowly beginning to harden. 

“You got some sort of magic tongue?” Mickey asked, a little more breathless than he meant to. 

“Got a magic thing called Google,” Ian replied, latching on to Mickey’s neck, sucking hard on a pressure point that had Mickey almost seeing stars. 

“You Googled how to have sex with a cripple?” 

Ian moved off his neck to stare down at Mickey. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said firmly, before diving in to lick his way into Mickey’s mouth. Mickey just moaned and tugged more on Ian’s hair. 

Ian mouthed his way across Mickey’s jaw, sucking hard on the hinge and then biting and sucking on his earlobe. 

He started kissing his way back down Mickey’s body, wet and open-mouthed and hitting every nerve ending Mickey could feel. 

Mickey followed Ian with his eyes and wasn’t too surprised to see his own cock harder than it’d been in years, waiting for Ian. Ian smiled up at Mickey before swallowing him down in one motion.

“Shit,” Mickey groaned, pulling hard at Ian’s hair. He didn’t know if he could feel Ian’s mouth, wet and warm around him, or if the sight of Ian’s stretched lips were causing some kind of phantom feeling, but whatever it was felt amazing. 

Ian’s head bobbed up and down on him as his hand came up to pinch at Mickey’s nipples, rolling them so that Mickey could feel something. 

He didn’t know if Ian was just really good or if not having an orgasm in four years supplied him with no stamina, but in no time at all he was moaning and spilling down Ian’s throat. He felt like a sparking wire, every inch of his body that he could feel alive and hot under Ian’s ministrations. The tingling pooled out from his stomach working its way down every nerve ending in his upper body, white heat and life making Mickey feel realer than he had in years. His fingers and arms twitched with the feeling as he laid sprawled out against his mattress. His vision blurred with stars that reminded him of Ian’s skin.

Ian sat back on his legs, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, and smirking down at Mickey. His hands were lazily stroking up and down Mickey’s thin legs. Mickey reached out a hand to cover one of Ian’s on his knee. 

Ian looked him in the eye, smiling at whatever he saw on Mickey’s face. 

“Fuck,” Mickey breathed, still too breathless and boneless to make actual conversation. 

Ian laughed, almost giggled, as he leaned over Mickey, propping himself on his hands on either side of Mickey and kissed him lightly. 

“I’ll say,” he said, against Mickey’s lips. He rolled over onto his side, propping himself on one elbow as he watched Mickey, lazily dragging his hand up and down Mickey’s chest. 

Mickey watched Ian’s hand, star stained skin dancing across his own chest, before looking up at Ian’s face. He wore a lazy smile, like he had never been more content. 

“What are you thinking about?” Mickey asked, curiosity getting the better of him. 

“Just thinking how it’s a lot nicer in your bed than that bed at the group home,” Ian replied, genuinely. 

Mickey brought a hand up to push through Ian’s short hair, smiling. 

“I’m glad I could be of service,” he said, smiling cheekily. Ian rolled his eyes and kissed him again. 

That’s when the front door banged open and the sounds of his father and brothers bursting into the house had both Ian and Mickey freezing in their spots. Luckily, Ian regained thought quickly and redressed, buttoning up his pants and straightening his shirt. He threw a pair of sweats at Mickey, before trying to help him get dressed. 

That’s when Terry walked in to find his son being dressed by another boy. 

“What the fuck?” he boomed, anger palpable in the room. 

Mickey cowered and Ian froze, neither of them knowing what to do to explain themselves. It was obvious by the look on Terry’s face that he knew what had just occurred. 

“Fucking faggots get the fuck out of my house,” Terry screamed, charging at the bed. Ian stood up to block his path to Mickey, but Terry punched him out of the way, sending his body sprawling against the floor. 

“Dad, stop,” Mickey begged, not having any way to protect himself or Ian. 

“Don’t hurt him,” Ian groaned from the floor, effectively distracting Terry from Mickey. 

“The fuck did you say to me?” Terry said turning on Ian, and kneeling over him to hit him some more. 

“Get off him,” Mickey yelled, voice wrecked as he dragged himself up and into his chair. Not knowing what else to do, he rammed his chair into his father’s back, distracting him from hitting Ian. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Terry boomed. “Ungrateful little faggot. I’ve done nothing but help you and you go around behind my back, sucking off this queer. You aren’t no son of mine.” 

“You almost killed him,” Ian moaned from the floor, bloody and bashed. 

“Now I’m gonna kill you.” 

“No,” Mickey screamed, punching his father low in the back to try to get him to let up. 

Terry stood up and turned on him, pulling a gun from the back of his pants and aimed it right at Mickey. 

“I wish you’d died in that damn crash. No good, fucking crippled son. Nothing but a burden to me and your siblings. You deserve to die,” Terry said. A click distracted them all, causing them to turn around, where Mandy stood in the doorway, aiming a rifle at Terry’s head. 

“Back the fuck off him, Terry,” Mandy bit out, sounding more like herself than Mickey had heard in years. 

“You fucking whore. Don’t talk to me that way,” Terry said, almost laughing. Mandy raised her hand to the trigger. 

“Back off or I’ll blow your brains all over this fucking room.” She looked nothing but dead serious. “You’ve already ruined all of our lives.” 

Terry raised his arms in surrender, not dropping the gun. Mandy shooed him out of Mickey’s room, rifle aimed at his head the whole time. Mickey heard one of his brother’s open the door. 

“And stay the fuck out,” Mandy screamed, before slamming the door. 

Mickey’s head spun. 

Ian groaned on the floor, snapping Mickey out of it. He rolled over to Ian’s side, Ian looked up at him with sparkling eyes. 

“He’s gone.” 

“For now,” Mickey said, watching Ian cautiously. 

Ian dragged himself up, coughing as he draped himself over Mickey’s legs. Mickey pushed a hand through his hair, touching his face lightly. Ian groaned again. 

“I’m sorry,” Ian muttered, into Mickey’s lap. 

“Got nothing to be sorry for,” Mickey assured him. 

Mandy appeared in the doorway again. 

“Thank you,” Mickey said, watching his sister with more respect and awe than he’d ever remembered. 

“I’d do anything for you, Mick,” Mandy replied, smiling. “You need help?” 

“Gotta get him to the bed,” he said, gesturing down at Ian, where he was draped over Mickey. 

“Iggy, get the fuck in here,” Mandy called out. 

“Who are you and what did you do to my sister?” Iggy asked, voice impressed as he entered Mickey’s room. 

“Help me get Ian on the bed,” Mandy ordered, ignoring him. 

She and Iggy dragged Ian onto the bed, with some help from Ian, and settled him down. 

“You fucking him?” Iggy asked. Mickey looked up at his brother, searching his face for disgust. When he didn’t find any, he nodded, blushing. “Cool. You call if you need anything. We’ll be out in the living room making sure that fucker doesn’t try to get back in.” 

“Thanks,” Mickey muttered. 

After Iggy left, Mandy looked down at Mickey, resting her hand on his shoulder. “You need anything else?” 

“Washcloth? Maybe some peroxide,” Mickey answered, not breaking his gaze from Ian’s bloodied body. 

She nodded and left, returning a moment later with what he asked. She smiled at him, kissing both Ian’s forehead and his own, before leaving his room and closing the door. 

He rolled over to the side of his bed, looking down at Ian. Ian opened his eyes and smiled up at Mickey. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Hurts, but was worth it,” Ian responded. 

Mickey set the stuff next to Ian on the bed, before hoisting himself up and over Ian’s body, settling against the wall and shifting his legs, dragging Ian’s head into his lap. He started dabbing at the blood on Ian’s face gently with the washcloth. 

“I’m sorry,” Mickey whispered, after Ian’s face was cleaned. 

Ian opened his eyes, looking right at Mickey. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. You helped me.” 

“I didn’t do anything.” 

Ian sat up, turning his body to face Mickey, wincing slightly. 

“Stop. Why can’t you see that you did so much? You aren’t any of those things your father said. You’re so good, Mick,” Ian said, cradling Mickey’s face in his hands. “You stood up for yourself and for me. You can do so much more than you let yourself believe.” 

Mickey bit at his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth and looking down. He didn’t feel like anything. He didn’t feel like he could help anyone, but the feeling of Ian’s strong hands framing his face made him feel good. If someone so good and strong and loving could care so much about Mickey, then maybe Mickey was more than just the crippled burden that his father claimed him to be. 

Mickey looked back up at Ian, who was staring at him intensely, fresh bruises already appearing on his face. 

“I care about you, too,” Mickey said, softly. The smile that broke out on Ian’s face was worth all the pain they’d just been through. He focused on that smile as he leaned forward to kiss Ian. He might not be able to walk, but that didn’t make him useless. 

Ian pulled away first, resting his forehead against Mickey’s. “You think I can crash here again tonight? Fiona has a court hearing in the morning and I’d rather not spend another night in that group home.” 

“I’m here to help,” Mickey said, before lying down on the bed and dragging Ian with him. Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey’s waist, resting his head on Mickey’s chest, breathing deeply. 

“We help each other,” Ian replied, before drifting off to sleep. 

Mickey took a deep breath, closing his eyes and relaxing for the first time in years. Feeling Ian’s weight against him, he realized he was no longer alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank [Emma](http://noelroeimfisher.tumblr.com) for all the hours that she spent into beta'ing this and assuring me that it was good. I was really needy for this fic and I appreciate her time so much. 
> 
> Come talk to me at [unbrokengibberish](http://unbrokengibberish.tumblr.com). I'd love to hear your thoughts on this or on anything!!


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